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Page 45
She was also a-tingle with another thought. At the corner where they
changed cars on the way to the Mission, she had made a discovery. The
bank where St. Boniface deposited its money loomed up ahead of them,
massive and grim. The name showed so plainly on the brilliantly
illuminated corner, that it almost seemed to leap towards them. It would
be an easy matter to find by herself. Now she need not ask anybody, but
could slip away from the girls early in the morning, and be on the steps
first thing when the doors opened.
Fortunately for her plans, Joyce announced that they would have an early
breakfast, in order that she might begin work as soon as possible. Mrs.
Boyd and Lucy had not returned with them the night before, but had gone
back to Brooklyn to finish their visit with their friends immediately
after the exercises at the Mission. So only a small pile of dishes
awaited washing when their simple breakfast was over. Mary insisted on
attending to them by herself so that Betty could begin her story at
once.
"Strike while the iron is hot!" she commanded dramatically. "Open while
opportunity knocks at the door, lest she never knock again! I'll gladly
be cook-and-bottle-washer in the kitchen while genius burns for artist
and author in the studio! Scat! Both of you!"
So they left her, glad to be released from household tasks when others
more congenial were calling. They heard her singing happily in the
kitchenette, as she turned the faucet at the sink, and then forgot all
about her, in the absorbing interest of the work confronting them. With
so many conveniences at hand the washing of the dainty china was a
pleasure to Mary, after her long vacation from such work. Quickly and
deftly, with the ease of much practise, she polished the glasses to
crystal clearness, laid the silver in shining rows in its allotted
place, and put everything in spotless order.
Joyce heard her go into the bath-room to wash her hands, and thought
complacently of Mary's wonderful store of resources for her own
entertainment, wondering what she would do next. She had been asking
questions about the roof garden, and how to open the scuttle. Probably
she would be investigating that before long, getting a bird's-eye view
of the city from the chimney tops.
"I believe she could find some occupation on the top of a church
steeple," thought Joyce, recalling some of the things with which she had
seen Mary amuse herself. There was the time in Plainsville when a burned
foot kept her captive in the house, and she couldn't go to the
neighbours. Always an indefatigable visitor, she amused herself with a
pile of magazines, visiting in imagination each person and place
pictured in the illustrations, and on the advertising pages. She played
with the breakfast-food children, talked to the smiling tooth-powder
ladies, and invented histories for the people who were so particular
about their brands of soap and hosiery.
There was always something her busy fingers could turn to when tired of
household tasks; bead-work and basket-weaving, embroidery, knitting,
even strange feats of upholstering, and any repair work that called for
a vigorous use of hammer and saw and paint-brush. A girl who could sit
by the hour watching ants and spiders and bees, who could quote poems by
the yard, who loved to write letters and could lose herself to the world
any time in a new book, was not a difficult guest to entertain. She
could easily find amusement for herself even in the top flat of a New
York apartment house. So Joyce went on with her painting with a
care-free mind.
Meanwhile Mary was slipping into her travelling suit, hurrying on hat
and gloves and furs, and with her heart beating loud at her own daring,
boldly stepping out into the strange streets by herself. It was easy to
find the corner where they had taken the car the night before. Only one
block to the right and then one down towards a certain building whose
mammoth sign served her as a landmark. But the night before she had not
noticed that the track turned and twisted many times before it reached
the corner where they changed for the East Side car, and she had not
noticed how long it took to travel the distance. Rigid with anxiety lest
she should pass the place she kept a sharp look-out, till she began to
fear that she must have already done so, and finally mustered up courage
to tell the conductor the name of the bank at which she wished to stop.
"Quarter of an hour away, Miss," he answered shortly. So she relaxed her
tension a trifle, but not her vigilance. There were a thousand things to
look at, but she dared not become too interested, for fear the conductor
should forget her destination, and she should pass it.
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